


A Dance Lesson

by lightofthetrees



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bittersweet, Gen, Glorfindel is now a dance instructor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nothing graphic ofc but Maeglin is still grieving, TSS Advent Calendar 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightofthetrees/pseuds/lightofthetrees
Summary: Glorfindel helps Maeglin practice for the upcoming Midwinter Feast. Guest appearance by Ecthelion.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2020 ADVENT CALENDAR





	A Dance Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 8 of the Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar (Gen). The prompt was Dancing. 
> 
> Thank you to an anon ask for the idea that Aredhel taught Maeglin how to dance! <3 I...kinda turned it into a fic. Also thank you to Jamcake from the SWG Discord for beta-reading!

“You are my dance instructor?”

Glorfindel smiled, his bright blue eyes sparkling with merriment. “Does that surprise you, Lómion?”

“Yes,” the dark-haired youth said, crossing his arms over his chest. He regarded the Lord of the Golden Flower with startling intensity as he reconsidered his answer. “And…no. My mother told me you are a great warrior, and I suppose that fighting and dancing are not so different.”

The grin on Glorfindel’s face grew brighter than Maeglin thought possible. “Oh, you already know something of dancing?”

“A little.” Maeglin glanced towards the window of the great hall of the palace, which looked out onto a multi-leveled courtyard currently blanketed in a gentle dusting of snow. He knew more than a little. His mother had taught him several dances of Tirion and Gondolin – a secret ritual they shared, practicing when Eöl was away.

“Then you will not find this difficult,” Glorfindel said. His voice was even, not demanding. “Why don’t we go through the foot positions first? Do you know them?”

Maeglin nodded. “ _Enquea_ ,” he said, standing with his feet together and his arms at his sides. “ _Minya_.” He leaned back on his heels and moved his toes outward. “ _Attea_.” He shifted his weight onto his left foot, extended his right, and then placed it down again to stand with his feet apart, toes still facing out.

He could hear each word in his mother’s voice, in that secret language of magic and music that was only for the two of them. It still felt strange to let Quenya pass his lips in front of anyone who was not her.

A confused glance from Glorfindel let Maeglin know that he’d paused for too long, and he shook his head to clear it. Then, he placed his right foot in front of his left, the right heel aligned with the middle of the left foot. “ _Neldea_.” He brought his right foot forward and just past the center line of his body. “ _Cantea_.” Lastly, he brought his right foot back in towards his left, aligning them toe to heel. “ _Lempea_.”

Maeglin looked up. “Am I dismissed, now?” he asked, voice flat. He knew he would not be, but he could feel the sparking sensation of tears at the corners of his eyes and he had a sudden and very intense wish to be alone. “It must be evident to you, Lord Glorfindel, that I can practice for the Midwinter Feast on my own.”

The radiance of Glorfindel’s face dimmed. “But we are just getting started, Lómion! We have not even begun to practice with the music.”

“Music?”

_Imagine yourself at court in Ondolindë,_ his mother had said on a summer day in Nan Elmoth so many years ago, hands resting on his shoulders. _Close your eyes and you will hear the music – chords plucked out on the harp, the melody of a flute floating above like birdsong, and a drum like a heartbeat. Here, I’ll help you._

He could almost feel her tapping on his shoulders again – _one and-TWO three, one and-TWO three_ – and his chest tightened.

“Of course!” Glorfindel’s warm voice pulled Maeglin from the depths of his memory. “I hope you do not mind that I have invited Ecthelion to join us. He should be here any minute, in fact. He is Gondolin’s most talented flautist, and dancing is always more fun with some accompaniment!”

“You know best,” Maeglin said. He did not want to remember how there was no music in his father’s house.

In a rustle of dark blue silk, Ecthelion of the Fountain swept into the hall, carrying a wooden flute in one hand and waving in greeting to Glorfindel and Maeglin with the other.

“Talking about me, were you?” Ecthelion asked once he reached them. His voice was naturally soft and lyrical, in contrast to Glorfindel’s jubilant confidence. The two lords reminded Maeglin of the sun and the moon, or perhaps even the Trees of Valinor – one gold and bright like a summer’s morning, and one silver and tranquil like the still water of a lake.

“Indeed we were. Your timing is impeccable,” Glorfindel said. “Which is good, since your music will be helping us keep time.” Ecthelion rolled his eyes, but Glorfindel’s smile made it clear that he had been expecting such a response from his friend. “We will be ready to begin whenever you are.”

“Any requests?” Ecthelion asked, making himself comfortable on one of the benches that lined the hall. He lifted the flute to his lips and played some scales and snatches of melody to warm up.

Glorfindel pondered a moment. “Something dignified and stately, I think. In four. Lómion, why don’t we begin with a bow, and you can follow me through something simple from there.”

_Imagine yourself at court in Ondolindë,_ his mother had said on a spring evening in Nan Elmoth, as the sun set and the moss glowed in ethereal blues and greens. _Close your eyes and you will see the others around you._

Maeglin let his eyes drift closed, recalling the vivid images his mother had painted for him with her words. _Everyone bows before they begin – to your Uncle Turukáno, who stands tall and regal on the dais, his crown studded with glittering diamonds, and to their partners. Perhaps Glorfindel and Ecthelion are there – the Lord of the Golden Flower is arrayed in gold and green, and you can hear his laughter echoing through the hall. Ecthelion is robed in midnight blue as always, and his hair is adorned with a silver net that makes him look like he has captured the light of the stars. And Itarillë stands with the other young gentlefolk of the court, watching the dancers and whispering behind her fan as she considers who she might ask to join her when the next song begins._

_And where are you?_ he asked.

_Dancing, of course! Right beside you, so you can follow me if you forget any of the steps._

“Lómion, are you all right?”

Maeglin opened his eyes and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Yes,” he snapped, and then regretted the harshness in his tone. 

Here he was, in the very room his mother had described to him, with the characters from her stories who had been his imaginary playmates as a child, and all he could do was reject the friendship they offered. But without her, how could this be the Ondolindë he had dreamed of?

“I am ready,” he said, careful to sound more polite this time.

Glorfindel nodded, and Ecthelion began to play.

The Lord of the Golden Flower stood facing Maeglin, and moved his arms in time with the music – from his sides to a rounded position in front of himself, then out to the either side with the palms facing up, generous and joyful, like a master bard about to tell a tale.

Maeglin followed along easily. A tiny spark of remembered joy flashed through his heart like a shooting star as his arms reached their version of _attea_ , spread wide, and his chest puffed out ever so slightly with pride.

As the next phrase of the music began, Glorfindel brought his arms back in, turning his palms down as he moved his hands to his waist. He shot Maeglin an approving smile and they both returned their arms to their sides.

Maeglin knew what to do next without watching his tutor – he brought his right hand to touch his chest, a gesture of gratitude, and then he reached his arm up above his head before sweeping it down and bending his head and body forward in a bow.

As he raised his head, he thought for a moment that, just out of the corner of his eye, he could see the hem of a white dress over bare feet.


End file.
